


Comfort Me

by Huggle



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Astraphobia, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt August Walker, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Solomon Lane, august walker lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26193874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: Walker and Lane survived, with the scars to prove it.But wounds can be treated.  When Walker finds himself flinching every time he sees a flash of lightning, Lane notices and does what he can to help.
Relationships: Solomon Lane/August Walker
Kudos: 7





	Comfort Me

**Author's Note:**

> Walker might be a homicidal anarchist, but even he needs comfort.

The storm is a good four or five miles or so out, according to the weather forecast; even so, Walker can see the lightning flashing in the distance, jagged lines spearing from heaven to earth.

He tenses, briefly, when Solomon comes up behind him, and puts a hand on his shoulder.

It’s unforgivable that he should allow himself to be so distracted, even here; Ethan Hunt is still out there. So is the rest of the IMF, and so is Ilsa Hunt and their masters.

“You should come in,” Lane says, after a moment, but Walker knows his reaction was noted.

“I will be, in a minute.”

Lane nods, and leaves him, and Walker watches the lightning, and tries to will it away.

IMF*IMF*IMF

They have time for a quick meal, before the power goes out.

Lane sighs, but it’s not altogether unexpected. It’s why Walker has some lanterns nearby, and turns a couple on, and doesn’t object when Lane suggests they turn in.

He follows, wincing with crash of thunder; he can’t see the lightning any more than he can the oxygen in the air they’re breathing, but he knows it’s there.

When Lane opens the bedroom door, Walker freezes on the threshold. 

The curtains are drawn, the window framing a scene that even his jaded lover had described as breathtaking when they’d arrived here a week ago, to take stock, to recover, to plan.

Now, it awakens something sickly in Walker’s gut, and he feels his breathing pick up.

“Walker?”

Lane’s watching him, worry creasing his brow.

“I’m…”. _Fine_ , he wants to lie, but he can’t get the word past a thick feeling in his throat, like he’s going to be sick if he doesn’t fight the tension running through him, if he lets his jaw relax.

In that moment, it’s as if Lane knows; well, of course he does. He knows every moment of the mission, everything that happened from when Walker met Hunt by the plane, the plan, his foolhardy jump into the storm.

Even the things that Walker didn’t tell him, he supposes the older man knows.

Lane turns, and shuts the curtains, and holds out his hand.

Walker hesitates, still, but then he feels his gaze, his whole attention drawn to Lane and so he goes, lets the other man take him in hand.

He’s stripped, gently, efficiently, and then tucked into the bed. Lane is quickly behind him, arm pulling Walker back against him, with a strength that surprises people who’ve never crossed Solomon or seen him destroy the obstacles in his path.

When the lightning comes again, following only moments later by a swell of thunder, Walker goes rigid, and there’s no stopping the low grunt of distress that escapes him.

“Ssshh,” Solomon says. “You’re safe here, Walker. You know that. With me. You’ll always be safe with me. Come.”

He can’t resist as Lane turns him over, even though he tries; it should be easy. He’s larger than Lane. He is, as his former boss once described him, a hammer.

He doesn’t feel like a hammer right now.

But still, his body yields, and then his head is guided down to rest on Lane’s shoulder, his face in darkness.

“I’ve got you,” Lane says. “Nothing else is going to hurt you. Not the Hunts of this world, not the CIA with their threat of secret torture rooms, or dear Ilsa and her ability to appear in all the places she should not be.”

He’s already told Walker this. Lamented over the wounds inflicted by that battle with Hunt on the mountain, traced the scars with his fingers and his lips, and promised that one day, he’ll mark Hunt’s beloved friends in the same way.

But they have time and money, and Walker knows that within a few months most of the burns will be dealt with, the skin renewed, the pain just a bad memory.

He’d give anything for that moment of stupidity, that sudden flash of light that hurt, that sent him a plummet, tearing loose his oxygen tank and causing him to pass out, for it to be as erased as his scars.

But it’s not that simple. It’s a mistake he won’t make again, and then Lane is stroking his neck.

“Breathe, August. Breathe. I have you hear. It’s alright.”

So he does, draws in a low slow breath, fights to make it less a wretched gasp of desperation and more a controlled inhalation, tries to focus on the way it feels to have Lane holding him.

It’s a long time before it’s alright, in any way, but with Solomon there…

Walker can bear it.


End file.
